heart
out in gaol! The chapel-bell roused me from phantasy. While the other
half of the prison was engaged in "devotion," I did an hour's grinding
at Italian, and read a chapter of Gibbon; after which I heard the
"miserable sinners" return from the chapel to their cells.

My Christmas dinner consisted of the usual diet, and after eating it I
went for another brief tramp in the yard. The officers seemed to relax
their usual rigor, and many of the prisoners exchanged greetings. "How
did yer like the figgy duff?" "Did the beef stick in yer ribs?" Such
were the flowers of conversation. From the talk I overheard, I gathered
that under the old management, while Holloway Gaol was the City Prison,
all the inmates had a "blow-out" on Christmas Day, in the shape of beef,
vegetables, plum-pudding, and a pint of beer. Some of the old hands,
who remembered those happy days, bitterly bewailed the decay of prison
hospitality. Their lamentations were worthy of a Conservative orator at
a rural meeting. The present was a poor thing compared with the past,
and they sighed for "the tender grace of a day that is dead."

After exercise I went to chapel. Parson Plaford preached a seasonable
sermon, which would have been more heartily relished on a full stomach.
He told us what a blessed time Christmas was, and that people did
well to be joyful on the anniversary of their Savior's birth. Before
dismissing us with his blessing to our "little rooms," which was his
habitual euphemism for our cells, he remarked that he could not wish
us a happy Christmas in our unhappy condition, but he would wish us a
peaceful Christmas; and he ventured to promise us that boon if, after
leaving chapel, we fell on our knees and besought pardon for our sins.
Most of the prisoners received this advice with a grin, for their cell
floors were black-leaded, and genuflexions in their "little rooms" gave
them too much knee-cap to their trousers.

At six o'clock I had my third instalment of Christmas fare, the last
mouthfuls being consumed to the accompaniment of church bells. The
neighboring Bethels were announcing their evening performance, and the
sound penetrated into my cell. True believers were wending their way
to church, while the heretic, who had dared to deride their creed and
denounce their hypocrisy, was regaling himself on dry bread in one of
their dungeons. The bells rang out against each other with a wild
glee as I paced my narrow floor. They seemed mad